


Down in It

by Niki



Series: Hurt/Comfort Sequence [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, Flu, Gen, Minor Illness, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/pseuds/Niki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It is, however, unusual for Hathaway to be an hour late without a word.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down in It

**Author's Note:**

> Lewis Secret Santa story for Sarren in lewis_challenge.
> 
> Huge thank you to my Brit picker and beta lygtemanden for a last minute check, to my medical beta for the ice lollies, and Marc for an interesting bar conversation about drink preferences when ill.

It isn't unusual for Lewis to arrive at work before his sergeant. He doesn't need as much sleep as he did when younger, and, honestly, doesn't have much to do at home these days. Even staring at files on his desk is more tempting than lingering over his lonely breakfast.

It is, however, unusual for Hathaway to be an hour late without a word. They don't have a major case going on, no pressing need to be anywhere but office hours are office hours, and the younger man is usually very conscientious. 

Lewis stares at Hathaway's desk, as if he can see the spare keys that had taken residence inside the bottom drawer after the little unscheduled swim at the end of their previous big case, wondering if he really has cause to worry or whether he is overreacting. But the younger man is not answering his phone, and the worry is winning. 

"I have the results of the Siegfried autopsy," Laura Hobson says in lieu of greeting, sticking her head through the door.

"Ah, thanks," he says, distracted.

"What's the matter?" Laura asks, stepping in. "Where's James?"

Lewis gets up and grabs the keys from the other man's desk drawer decisively. "I don't know but I'm going to find out."

"I'll cover for you," Laura promises, smiling cheekily. 

Well, it's good she isn't worried, at least.

 

\- - -

He drives over to his sergeant's apartment practising scathing comments if the younger man really has just overslept. 

He takes out the keys after the doorbell and his knocks both go unheeded, and as soon as he opens the door he hears the unmistakable sounds of retching in the bathroom.

“If you are hung over, I'll let Innocent deal with you!”

He gets no reply, and the pitiful sounds continue, so he pops his head in through the open door.

“You're burning up, man!” he exclaims after touching Hathaway's brow, and the younger man turns his head, as if only now noticing his presence. His face is flushed, his eyes bloodshot, and he seems to have trouble focusing.

“Sir,” he says, weakly. “Sorry... meant to call...” his voice is weak, and Lewis shakes his head. 

“Come on, let's get you to bed,” he says and helps the young man up. 

Hathaway makes no protest and they stumble towards what is obviously his bedroom. The bed is messy, like he has been tossing and turning all night. 

“Do you have a thermometer, lad?” Lewis asks after helping him lie down.

“Medicine cabinet,” Hathaway says weakly. “Sir.”

He retrieves it as well as a glass of water and a waste paper basket he lines with a plastic bag before placing it next to Hathaway's bed.

38,1°C. 

“I'm sorry, lad, but I have to take you to a doctor.”

“It's just flu... always throw up with fever... just need to sleep it off.”

“You know the rules, sergeant. Fever plus vomiting means seeing a doctor. I'll call the station, then take you.”

\- - -

As it turns out, “most likely just a flu” is the diagnosis they get with the instructions of plenty of rest and liquids, but at least that makes it official. 

Lewis leaves Hathaway dozing in the car while he makes a quick trip to a Sainsbury's on the way. Hathaway is so weak from being up that he can't get anything useful out of him about his preferences, so out of habit he gets what they used to get the kids when they were ill.

He has to practically carry the younger man back to his apartment, his strength has been thoroughly sapped by the journey. Lewis helps him undress and redress in a clean pair of pyjamas before helping him back to his bed.

Then he returns to get the shopping. When he comes back in with the bag he takes a look around the apartment for the first time. It's... very Hathaway. Clean and organised, yet filled with signs of his hobbies and interests. His guitar is resting on an armchair and his bookcases are filled with thick volumes. The sofa table is the only exception to the 'clean and organised' rule but even there the only mess is a game of chess, seemingly in progress, an empty glass of wine and a few books.

The kitchen is tiny but clean, with only a coffee cup sitting unwashed in the sink. He stores his purchases in the fridge and freezer and takes a glass of ginger ale for the patient. 

“Try to drink something.”

When Hathaway just stares at the glass he asks, “Would you rather have some chamomile tea?”

“Bleargh, sir,” Hathaway says with a slight smile but lets him help him take a few sips, and a paracetamol with them. 

“Try to get some sleep.”

The bedroom is also very Hathaway, although... the mirror is a surprise. He supposes there aren't many choices with a room that small, but Lewis wouldn't want to be greeted by his own face every morning. Of course, there are other uses for a mirror by the bed, and he really doesn't want to go there.

He continues his exploration of the apartment. There is only one photo in the living room, an older couple. The family resemblance is faint but he still tentatively identifies them as Hathaway's parents. Is it just filial duty to have the picture there? He never speaks of his family. 

The room looks lonely. All those books, all those records, a game of chess... but only one glass of wine. Only one cup of coffee. 

If he doesn't stay, does the lad have anyone to come look after him?

Well, it's not like he has a pressing reason to get back to his empty apartment and the signs of the solitary breakfast he left behind that morning. 

Just as he is debating whether to find a book and settle down to read, Hathaway starts throwing up again. He rushes to the bedroom to find him hunched by the bin, throwing up the few sips of liquid he got down. 

Crouching down next to him, he gives him the glass of water still on the table and encourages him to rinse his mouth and spit it out in the bin. Thanks to the plastic bag it is easy enough to empty the sick, a trick he'd learnt from Val. 

Worried about dehydration, he then goes to he kitchen to retrieve his secret weapon.

“... an ice lolly, sir?”

“Don't knock it til you try it,” he says, and waits for the younger man to take the frozen treat. “It should help your throat and get some fluid into you.”

Hathaway looks dubious, but sucks on the red lolly obediently. 

Lewis gives him a smile, then replaces the bag on the rubbish bin before retreating to the living room to find that book. 

\- - -

He discovers Waiting for Godot in the shelf, and decides to give it another shot. He tried to read it, years ago, when it came up somehow in connection of a case with Morse but never finished. 

He settles down on the sofa to read, only getting up occasionally to check on his patient. Hathaway is finally sleeping, although he seems restless, and the fever seems to be going up. He most likely threw up most of the pill he took earlier, but at least the ice lolly seems to stay down. 

Once, when he is standing next to the bed, hand on Hathaway's forehead the younger man opens his eyes suddenly. 

“Eyes I dare not meet in dreams,” he mutters, looking into his eyes, then closes his again, and goes instantly back to sleep. 

Lewis blinks, wondering if he should worry. Then again, Hathaway spouting random quotations just makes the day seem more normal. 

At four he phones Laura, asking her to stop by after work, so that he can swing by his apartment for a change of clothes and a few essentials. He doesn't want to leave Hathaway alone, definitely not for the night, but not even for the hour it'll take him to make the trip.

Laura arrives with take away and he forgives her earlier levity in the face of his worry.

\- - -

Hathaway's sofa is surprisingly comfortable to sleep in, and he only wakes up once to the sound of vomiting. In the morning, his patient seems much better. The fever seems to be down for the moment. He is sitting up, drinking, and even considers eating. 

Lewis starts him on another ice lolly and this time gets no resistance from the younger man.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, quietly, after he finishes eating, well, sucking. “For... all of this. I know it's not exactly in the job description.”

“If you want me to call someone else to...”

“No, there's... no one else. I'll be fine, now.”

“We'll see. I'll have to stop by the office later today but I'll be back.”

“What about the case, sir?”

“Just tying up loose ends, you know how it is. Nothing urgent. You concentrate on getting better. Now, do you think you could handle some toast?”

\- - -

After Lewis leaves for work, James dozes again, wondering why he has a line from the Hollow Men stuck in his head. 

When he wakes up the next time, he can hear the other man moving in the apartment, and the knowledge that he is not alone is powerful. He has resigned himself to being alone, trying not to let it turn into loneliness, but now that he isn't, the contrast is telling.

How sad is it that when he is ill, he only has his boss to look after him? But then, Lewis is so much more than just his boss. 

He gets up, gingerly, and makes his way to the toilet. He abandons the idea of brushing his teeth because his stomach rebels the moment he even considers putting toothpaste into his mouth.

He walks slowly to the living room and finds Lewis on the sofa, jacket and tie gone, reading a book. His book, as it turns out. 

“Beckett, sir?”

“Tried to read it once, when I was younger.”

“But?”

“You try reading existential plays with a toddler in the house. How are you?”

“Better.”

“Sit down, would you like some food?”

He sits down in the armchair, admittedly feeling quite weak. He considers the state of his stomach. 

“Something... easy.”

“I got some pudding, or I can heat you some soup.”

“Pudding, please.”

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

It strikes him how absurd the whole situation is and yet how comfortable he is in it. This man he calls 'sir' helped him dress and throw up, and is caring for him like a sick child. 

“Chocolate,” he says. “Thank you.”

It isn't like he is complaining, exactly. Why doesn't he ever invite the other man here? When ever they spend off-duty time together it's always at Lewis' place or in a pub. Is he worried that his carefully arranged state of aloneness would turn into loneliness if the place saw what it was missing? 

“I'll be fine,” he says, quietly, after finishing his pudding and deciding it seems to be staying down.

“We'll see,” Lewis says and smiles. “Let's give it another night, yeah?”

“But you can't be comfortable...”

“Nicer than my old bed,” Lewis says, patting the sofa. “I'll be fine. You concentrate on keeping that food inside you, and we can talk. Tomorrow.”

James feels like crying. Must be the fever, and not the caring colouring the older man's voice. He has to admit that... it feels good to be looked after, for a change. 

He might get used to it, given a chance.


End file.
